


Making Up.

by RedStarFiction



Category: Outlander, Outlander & Related Fandoms, Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-26
Updated: 2017-05-26
Packaged: 2018-11-05 05:02:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11006538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedStarFiction/pseuds/RedStarFiction
Summary: Those of you who have followed my writing for a while know that I am not hugely confident with Bree and Roger - I find Bree’s voice quite hard to capture as a character — luckily there isn’t much talking in this make up scene! ;-) Thanks for reading guys! xxx





	Making Up.

The argument had been lingering for a while. Small pointed comments and charged stares had filled their evenings for the last three days. The matter had started simply as a disagreement and escalated in a way that neither of them had been able to anticipate nor catch before they became too entrenched in it, and too full of pride to back down.

Brianna’s nostrils flared as Roger re-arranged the glass she had set before him, just slightly. Not enough to suggest he genuinely wanted it in a different position but enough to let her know that her placement had not been, to his mind, correct.

“Is there a problem?”

“No, I just moved a glass Bree. I dinna see that there needs to be a problem.”

“I didn’t ask if you thought there needed to be a problem, I asked if we already have one.”

Roger’s jaw hardened and Bree’s eyes narrowed. They were locked into a stupid argument about whether or not she could make a bike safe enough for Jem to ride but it was now so far removed from the original point, Bree could hardly remember what set it off.

“Maybe I should stop answering your questions, seeing as the answer I give is so verra seldom…”

“Shut up, Roger.”

Brianna snapped and stomped toward the kitchen. She braced herself against the counter top, her head resting lightly on the cool wood of the window frame.

She heard him a moment before his hands settled on her waist, his footstep lighter than she remembered. When had he developed the instincts of a tracker?

“I hate this.”

His breath was hot against the helix of her ear, the stubble of his beard gently catching a few strands of copper hair that had escaped her loose bun.

“Me too.”

She whispered and with the admission, a great weight of tension left her shoulders.

“How do I fix it, Bree?”

Roger’s chest was pressing against her back, the solid comfort of his presence a reassuring buffer against the upset in their home. She reached back and ran her hand from his thigh to his hip, digging her nails into the toned flesh of his leg. Always a slim man, he was now lithe with muscle from hard work and long days and the flesh beneath his breeks quivered with anticipation of her touch each time she lifted her hand away. Roger’s own hand was working the thong which laced her breeks and as the knot came loose; his teeth grazed the pale skin of her neck.

Bree closed her eyes and pictured the smooth dark hair of his legs rising to greet her fingers as they moved, silky and damp with perspiration from them being pressed so close together, so very, very close…

Roger stilled his fingers and grinned as Brianna arched her back, pressing her backside into him, a small, impatient noise escaping her lips. She tried to turn to face him but he reapplied the exquisite pressure of his fingertip and she froze, obediently.

“Will ye have me now?”

His voice was deeper, thicker than normal. He made a small circular motion and Bree nodded against his shoulder, her nails digging into his thigh hard enough to make his breath hiss through his teeth. Roger had once heard his mother-in-law say that the best way to deal with the Fraser temper was to either fight them, feed them or … take them to bed. He didn’t want to fight with Bree anymore, her silences pierced his heart more than her sharp words and his own callousness was nothing more than a source of shame. He had not tried feeding her but the third option was becoming far more apparent as the right one with every second.

“Will we still be in a quarrel afterwards?”

“That depends on … ah!”

Roger’s palm stung with the impact and the thought of how it might look on her – a single pink mark across an expanse of white – made his knees weak but he forced himself to remain still as his fingers moved in small circles.

“You’ll regret that.”

Bree said levelly but with something close to humour in her voice and Roger grinned despite himself.

“Aye, you’ll no doubt see to it that I have a few marks of my own but I don’t mind that as long as we are agreed that our argument is over. I don’t want to continue it Brianna.”

He felt her relax against him, slowly, carefully, unpicking the thread of her stubborn nature from the necessity of co-existing with him. She didn’t want to fight any more than he did, if she did then he would never have got this far. She was letting him talk her down, allowing him to woo her. Roger was learning a lot about what it meant to be a man in these times but some things were not historical, they were eternal.

“I’m sorry for any insult I caused, Bree.”

It was like turning a key in a worn but perfect lock. She turned to him and their lips met.

“I’m sorry too.”

Roger smiled against her as her arms twined around his neck.

“I like what the mountain air seems to be doing to you.”

She teased, eyes light and playful

“Mountain air? You don’t think I had it in me all along?”

Roger raised his eyebrows as he walked her backwards toward the counter, lifting her beneath the thighs and seating her before him as he began to work the buckskin down her legs.

“Show me.”

Bree grinned, wiggling her feet free and locking them around her husband, drawing him to her and sealing the lid on their fight.


End file.
